“Is ’oo cwyin’, Mister Fireman?”
No, Rob was not crying; but he had just seen something that made his breath come heavingly and his heart almost stop beating. Below him he could see a dull red glow, growing momentarily brighter. No need was there for him to speculate on what that meant.
The stairway was on fire. His one means of escape from the blazing building was cut off.
For an instant Rob’s head swam dizzily. He felt sick and shaky. Was he to die there in that inferno of flames? A cry was forced wildly from his cracked lips.
“Not like this! Oh, not like this!” he begged, raising his eyes upward.
CHAPTER XII.
IN PERIL OF HIS LIFE.
In the meantime, outside the building suspense had reached almost the breaking point. The Scouts still stood steady and staunch, but their faces were white and drawn. When the crash that announced the falling floor came, a man, wrought beyond the bearing point, cried out:
“There goes his last chance, poor kid!”
“Shut up, can’t you,” breathed a fierce, tense voice in his ear the next instant. “Don’t you see his father and mother back there?”
It was only too true. Attracted by the excitement, Rob’s father and mother had driven to the scene in their car. They reached it just in time to hear of Rob’s heroic act. Now, white-faced and trembling, they sat hand in hand wretchedly waiting for news. As time passed and the flames rose higher without a sign of the daring lad, their hearts almost ceased to beat. Seconds seemed hours, minutes eternity.